The Secret From the Past
by Anonymous033
Summary: "DiNozzo. Big 'D,' little 'i,' big 'N,' little 'ozzo.' Whatever Ziva's been telling you about me, it's not true." Tony meets an old friend of Ziva's. One-shot; not angst, I promise.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own NCIS. I do own Ziva's friend, and _never forget that, CBS._

**Spoilers: **It does talk about the IDF, but if you know Ziva, then you know the IDF, so does that still count as a spoiler?

**Acknowledgement: **A great thanks to Natalie, my expert on all things Israeli. My darling, you are a lifesaver.

**Dedication: **To Cara, who nearly beat me up when I suggested angst.

**Fun fact:** While writing this fic, my fingers kept trying to spell "IDF" as "IDK." On completely opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to who you want defending your country, really. Enjoy!

**-_Soph_**

* * *

**The Secret From the Past**

He hears them before they round the corner.

He's parked behind tall shelves of alcohol, and that's why they don't see him at first; the two brunette women who are deep in conversation don't notice him until the cart that precedes them almost bangs into his hip.

Simultaneously, two pairs of dark brown eyes look at him.

"Tony!" Ziva cries in surprise, as if the grocery store is the last place on Earth in which she would expect to meet him.

"Zi," he greets, plastering a grin on his face. "Who's your friend?"

His partner's cheeks tinge with pink as her eyes flicker self-consciously to her side. "Meet Avigayil."

"A-vi-ga-yil?" he tries the name out hesitantly on his tongue, and the stranger's mouth drops open.

"This is the idiot you were telling me about earlier!" she proclaims loudly, and Tony stares at Ziva as the NCIS agent's blush deepens.

"Yes, that's Tony."

Tony extends his hand obligingly. "DiNozzo. Big 'D,' little 'i,' big 'N,' little 'ozzo.' Whatever Ziva's been telling you about me, it's not true."

Avigayil tilts her head in a rather Ziva-esque manner. "I am not sure," she says. "You do seem … you introduced yourself in a very strange manner."

"That's just _charm, _ma'am."

Avigayil narrows her eyes. "Do not call me 'ma'am.'"

"Are you related to Ziva?" Tony asks with interest.

"Enough!" Ziva interrupts, throwing her hands up into the air before her companion, who looks rather taken aback, can answer. "Avigayil is a friend. I met her in the IDF. We lost contact after we left the service, but Avigayil has recently moved to the U.S., and I bumped into her this morning. We have been catching up."

He raises his eyebrows. "In the supermarket?"

"Uh … we were thinking of making dinner together—"

"Let us invite him," Avigayil announces.

"_What?!_" Ziva splutters, glaring at her friend. "Absolutely not!"

"Why not?" Avigayil protests. "He is intriguing. Is he Italian? Are you Italian, Mr Tony DiNozzo-with-the-little-ozzo?"

"Avi!" Ziva exclaims, aghast.

"But I want to get to know your friiiends!" Avigayil whines.

"But—"

"Look at him! He wants to join us, too; he is absolutely fascinated with us!" Avigayil gestures in his vague direction, whereupon he promptly turns away and pretends to immerse himself in the wine, instead.

"You are a _terrible _actor, Tony," Ziva snaps.

"I didn't see you complaining when we had to go undercover," he retorts, only to regret it when he hears Ziva's groan and Avigayil's excited '_Ooh_'.

"Ugh, fine," Ziva mutters. "Would you like to join us, Tony?"

"Is that actually an invitation?" he asks with a smirk.

Ziva shrugs. "Eh."

Tony rolls his eyes. "C'mon," he beckons, leading her off to the far end of the aisle. He whispers, "Do you really want me there?"

"I don't mind either way," Ziva murmurs.

"Really? 'Cause you don't exactly look the picture of eagerness."

"Yes, but Avigayil will be bothering me the whole night about whether you will come."

"You could just tell her you want to catch up with her first."

"I don't think you realize how persistent she can be," Ziva answers with a rueful smile. "It is alright, DiNozzo. I'm sure you and Avigayil will get along, so it is no problem. But you _will _bring the wine."

"Got it."

"And it will be red and expensive."

"Wow—"

"And there will be no complaints, or you will not get to meet my interesting best friend from the IDF."

"Okay, okay, red wine. Expensive red wine."

Ziva nods, satisfied. "Will we be seeing you later at my apartment, at around 7.00PM?"

"Yep," Tony answers happily. "Lemme just start looking at the expensive wines here…"

He swears that as Ziva returns to her friend and they start walking back in the direction they had come from, Avigayil shouts, "See you later, Mr Little-ozzo!"

xoxo

He arrives at Ziva's front door promptly at seven in the evening.

From where he's standing, the interior sounds strangely quiet for a room that contains what he'd perceived to be a very loud Avigayil, but he hears Ziva call "It's unlocked!" when he raps three times on the smooth wood.

He enters an apartment full of soft jazz music and the smell of cooking. In the kitchen, Avigayil stands at a counter, tossing a fresh salad in a remarkably demure manner; Ziva stands at the stove, stirring something inside a pot.

"Good evening, Mr Little-ozzo," Avigayil greets him.

"Why did I introduce myself to you in that way?" Tony groans without preamble and with much exasperation.

Ziva giggles. "Stop bullying my co-workers, Avi."

"He started it!" Avigayil protests, only to sigh theatrically when Ziva points a knife menacingly at her. "Fine, fine."

"Did you bring the wine, Tony?" Ziva asks.

"Yup." He plonks the wine bottle down onto the counter beside her. "Red and expensive."

"Thank you. Could you set the table, please?"

"How many times has he been to your place, Zivale?" Avigayil asks with mild interest as he collects the plates and silverware from their respective places.

"Quite a few," Ziva mumbles without turning away from the pot.

"Did he organize your silverware drawer?" Tony and Ziva both stare at Avigayil, and she lifts and drops a shoulder. She explains, "I am just commenting on the fact that he seems to know where everything is."

"We have takeout together for dinner sometimes after work!" Ziva says. "That's all."

"It must be good takeout," Avigayil retorts cheekily, shooting them an impish grin before turning back to her salad.

"Table's laid," Tony announces, wondering whether having dinner with them is such a good idea after all.

xoxo

Dinner turns out to run smoothly. They joke and converse about the lighter topics over food and alcohol, thus sinking into a pleasurable haze. When dessert is done with, they all retire to the living room where, with a movie on in the background, the topic turns to work occupation. Tony and Ziva tell Avigayil about NCIS; she reacts with much interest upon hearing about the lab scientist called Abigail.

"You must take me to meet her," Avigayil tells Ziva, and it takes some convincing, but the latter ultimately agrees.

The introduction to Team Gibbs over and done with, Avigayil tells them about her job—a transfer by her company, which is responsible for the production and development of various technologies. The work is easy, she explains, but getting used to the American culture is hard. Tony jumps in with various titbits about the U.S., and Avigayil listens diligently; as the clock ticks on into the night, the two begin to forge a friendship.

It isn't until further into the evening that they begin talking about Ziva's and Avigayil's time in the IDF. They had both lived away from home for weeks on end and thus become best friends, doing everything together and helping each other through bad times. Ziva had been there after Avigayil's grandfather's passing, and Avigayil had likewise helped Ziva through her first romantic breakup. Tony learns more about Ziva's past that evening than in the many years he's known her.

Eventually, conversation tapers out. Ziva goes into the kitchen to refill their drinks and make a bowl of popcorn for their unwatched movie and, while she's there, Avigayil turns to Tony.

"Tell me, Tony, are you and Ziva close?"

"Uh, I guess," he answers more out of shocked reflex than for any other reason. He genuinely hadn't been expecting that question.

Avigayil screws her face up in thought, seeming to observe him at the same time. "I will not claim to know Ziva better than you," she begins, "after all, I hadn't spoken to her for years. After we left the IDF, our lives were just too different. When she went into Mossad, she had to go on a lot of undercover assignments that required her to keep her friends at a distance. I understand that, but I will say that neither she nor I liked it."

"I'd figure."

"Imagine my surprise when she recognized me this morning. She told me, then, that she'd wanted for many times to get in touch with me, but feared that I would push her away after so long."

"She…" He hesitates guiltily, aware of the part he had once played in strengthening that fear. "That's kinda a theme with her at times."

"So I can see," Avigayil answers in a woebegone manner. "I don't remember that being a part of her when she was a teenager. Of course, many things have happened since then, but it still hurts my heart that she could think that of me."

"It's—it's not personal, y'know. That's just—that's just how she tends to feel. I think she's working on it."

Avigayil contemplates that. "Tony, you are her best friend now. I know that Ziva and I will never be as close as we once were, but I do hope that you and she will remain close for a long time to come."

"What are you saying?"

Avigayil shrugs. "She did not let people in easily; not even as a teenager in the IDF. I do not think that has changed, and I am just hoping that whomever she lets in now has the good sense to understand and appreciate that."

"I understand that. I do appreciate it," he answers earnestly, and Avigayil gives him a faint smile.

"Good. That is all I want for her—someone decent to fall back on."

"Are you two talking about me?" Ziva asks suspiciously, arriving back on the scene right on time and saving Tony from having to make some mushy statement or other about how he'll always fight to be Ziva's safety net.

"Only your most embarrassing stories," he answers with a grin instead, and he knows he's succeeded in distracting her when she starts flicking popcorn at him.

xoxo

It's nearing midnight when he finally makes a move to leave. Avigayil had made her way home a little over half an hour ago, since she lived quite a distance away; Tony had stayed behind to finish watching the restarted movie with Ziva.

The movie ended, he's already washed the dishes with her and collected his coat and put on the loafers he had left by the door when Ziva speaks up, evidently unable to hold her curiosity in for any longer.

"What _were _you and Avigayil saying about me earlier?"

"Why do you have to ask?" he teases, and she fake-pouts. "How do you know we were talking about you at all? Maybe we were talking about the American Civil War."

"And how you were the poo-boy in re-enactments?" she shoots back, and he clutches at his heart.

"That _hurts, _Agent David."

Despite his joking tone, she does look vaguely contrite. "Well, it is true," she mutters, disgruntled.

He chuckles and decides to take pity on her. "We were just … y'know, talking about what it's like, being best friends with you."

"And what is it like?" In her tone is masked hesitancy; her eyes don't quite rise to meet his.

"She regrets that she ever grew apart from you, so you tell me."

Ziva smiles.

"Me, I'd regret it very much if I ever grew apart from you, so you tell me," he continues in a whisper. Tilting her chin upwards with his fingertips, he lets his lips graze her forehead. "Goodnight, my ninja."

A rosy blush blossoms on her cheeks once more. "Goodnight, Tony."

"See you," he adds before turning away to open the door, but she calls his name before he can step outside. He turns back. "Yeah?"

"Did you like Avigayil?"

He smirks. "She has all the secrets from your past. What makes you think I wouldn't like her?"


End file.
